


Homesick

by Savageseraph



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Anger, Bathtubs, Dark Magic, Demons, Escape, Gen, Pain, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: Mazikeen wants to go home so badly the feeling is a constant ache that never fully fades, and that vexes her.Written for killing_kurare's "using a favorite bath bomb" prompt on the Comment Fic Livejournal Community.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2021





	Homesick

Mazikeen paces back and forth, back and forth, across her living room, her arms swinging, her hands curled into tight fists. She is sick and fucking tired of Lucifer acting like a child. Sick of this City of Angels and the self-important mortals teeming in its streets. Sick and tired of having to keep her passions in check. With an angry cry, she throws two daggers at one of the walls. They sink in to the hilts. Maze growls as she prowls over to them, pulls them free, and frowns at the blemishes left in the wall. They upset her sense of order, which is the one reason she hasn’t rained wholesale destruction down on the apartment.

Her shoulders slump, and Maze sighs. She doesn’t like this place, doesn’t like how Lucifer expects her to behave to live in it with him. She wants to go home so badly the feeling is a constant ache that never fully fades, and that vexes her.

After stalking into the bedroom, Maze puts her daggers on the dresser. She tugs off her thigh-high boots and unzips her dress, letting it slither down her body to pool on the floor. After she steps out of the fabric, she goes into the bathroom and retrieves a black lacquered box from the linen closet. She touches her finger to the keyhole and feels a slight prick as the needle tastes her blood and the box opens.

The box is lined with black silk, and there are five recesses inside, three of which hold dark spheres. Maze had to pay the wizard who enchanted the bath bombs for her a small fortune, and with her stock dwindling, she might have to arrange for another shipment soon. She pulls out one of the spheres, clicks the box closed, and returns it to its hiding place beneath a mound of fluffy bath towels. 

The bomb is a red so dark it’s almost black, and the surface glimmers with flecks of faintly pulsing crimson light. When she drops it in the tub, there is no frothing. No bubbles. The water goes black as onyx, and the shadows in the room seem to stretch and darken. Little flecks of crimson fire dance and swirl through the liquid. Maze closes her eyes and inhales. The bath smells of leather and fresh blood, of roses and spiced wine, of metal and monsters. She bares her teeth in a sleek, killing smile. It smells like home.

Maze steps into the water and sinks slowly down, resting her head on the cushion on the lip of the tub. The water ripples around her, vibrates with silky sobs and soft screams. It tickles against her skin, and Maze stretches and purrs. The little darts of crimson fire sizzle and sting whenever they touch her, and the sweet tangle of pleasure and pain, of comfort and cruelty, caresses away her anger and soothes her sadness. For a little while, Maze escapes.

Until the magic fades and the water cools.


End file.
